


Anchor

by SeverusMinerva



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Baby can have a little egg, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide mention, a little fluff, as a treat, secret keeping solas, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverusMinerva/pseuds/SeverusMinerva
Summary: The anchor occasionally acts up, causing debilitating episodes of pain for Lavellan. Solas is always there when she needs him.—unnamed Lavellan Inquisitor—
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the solavellanhellartchallenge on FB. I'm not sure if I will do all of them, and certainly not one a day, but I'll let you know.  
> This deals with a bit of a heavy subject for some people, so if you're not okay reading about suicidal thoughts, please stay safe and don't read! I love ya!  
> Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

The anchor was normally tolerable for the most part. It acted up when Lavellan got closer to rifts, or other anomalies in the veil, but in general, she could nearly forget that it was there. Except for these moments of intense, close to unbearable pain that shot through her palm and up her arm, debilitating her completely. She couldn’t figure out what triggered these episodes, only that they were long and relentless and it was in those moments that she thought that she should have died at the conclave. Tonight found her curled up in a ball, cradling her aching hand to her chest, not-so-silent tears streaming down her face. She had already changed for bed, and she knew that most of Skyhold would be asleep now, including the mages and the healers. Lavellan didn’t want them, anyway. Who she really wanted, _needed_ , was off on a mission to activate more elven artifacts from around southern Thedas, and only the Creators knew when he’d be back.

Solas always knew what to do with her in these situations. He would take her in his arms, calm and kind, and somehow make the pain go away. Sometimes it lingered, but Solas always stayed. Lavellan made a pitiful murmuring sound through her tears and clutched her arm tighter as the pain in her hand and the pain of Solas’ absence wracked through her. It did not help that she was missing him along with everything else that was happening. She just wanted him _home_.

She had no idea how long she laid on the floor, only that it was long enough that the cold from the stones had seeped through the rug and Solas’ old shirt and now she was shivering as well as in pain. She wanted this to be over, wanted it _all_ to be over. She had not asked for the terrible responsibility of the anchor, of being the only person in the world with the power to close the rifts, and thus the breach, and thus the focus of Corypheus’ rage and psychotic vengeance. She had not asked to be sent to the _Shem’len_ conclave, to be accused of murdering the Divine of a goddess she did not believe in. And yet, here she was, the Lady Inquisitor, writhing and crying on the floor like the child she wishes she could still be.

“ _Vhenan?_ ” A few things happened at once. Lavellan gasped at the familiar voice and tried to twist her way into a standing (or at least sitting) position but in her excitement, she had dropped her left arm and attempted to push herself up off the floor with it. The pain spiked suddenly, sending her back down with an agonized shout. Solas, who had apparently just come up the stairs of her (their) quarters, rushed to her, knowing immediately what was wrong without having to ask.

“Oh, _Vhenan, I_ _r abelas_ , I did not mean to frighten you. Come here, let me help.” He knelt beside her and gently maneuvered her so that she was sitting on his lap, her head tucked into his neck, his arms surrounding her, her traitorous left hand carefully held by both of his. She could feel his mana flowing into her hand, soothing the pain. He always started slowly, adding more if she needed it. Just the small tendrils that he put out to begin with were helping tremendously, and the tension that had seized her body during the episode began to dissipate, leaving the warm imprint of Solas’ magic in its place. Solace moved her hand so that the fingers of one of his hands could intertwine with the fingers of her left hand, and he could rub her arm and shoulder with the other.

“Is that better, _emma lath_?” Lavellan could not bring herself to speak immediately, so she nodded into his neck and sighed, feeling more tears welling in her eyes. The pain was not yet gone, but it was bearable. The thoughts she’d had were more powerful. She’d told Solas about them once, back in Haven, the time he’d found her freezing in the forest, not consciously trying to run away but needing to be anywhere else but at the center of attention. He had understood her, reassured her that her life had meaning that there were people who would _miss_ her, and that had been that. Now, as she nestled in closer to his warmth, taking a handful of his tunic and feeling like a child, she had no idea how to bring it up again. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to.

“You are thinking those terrible things, again, aren’t you?” he murmured, his arms tightening their hold around her. She nodded, heart suddenly full of love for this man. He knew her better than anyone had ever even tried to know her, and that knowledge hit her like a bag of stones. She did not deserve him. She did not deserve the love he gave her, so freely and passionately, unlike anything else she’d ever felt before. She told him as much and he bristled, a hand coming up to firmly but carefully turn her head so that he could look her in the eyes.

“That could not be farther from the truth, _Vhenan. You mean everything to me. It is I who does not deserve you, my love. You are a bright and beautiful presence in this world, and you have done so much in so little time. I am proud of you, and so are many others.”_ The last bit he said in her native tongue, knowing that it would calm her, make her think of home. He pulled her closer and kissed her hair, closing his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. He loved this woman more than life itself, and it hurt him to see her in such pain. The crashing waves of guilt that it was his magic that was burning her flesh that it was his orb that had given it to her. It will be his fault if this kills her, and if the anchor does not, then it will be his rending of the Veil that does. He is a fool, to let himself be with her like this, comforting her, holding her so close. She will hate him all the more for it. He cannot find it within himself to care.

He kissed her hair again, rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back and waiting for her tears to subside. When they do, her breathing evens out and she leans more heavily against him, her warm breath tickling his neck. He stands, lifting her with ease, and takes her to their bed. He set her down gently, smiling as he notices for the first time that she is wearing his old tunic. It looks far better on her than it ever had on him. He arranges the blankets and furs so that she is under them, warm and soft and safe. He slides under them and carefully wraps himself around her, taking care not to wake her. He settles, but he does not sleep. The guilt is lingering, like her thoughts, and he cannot make it go away. He stares at the canopy above them, and feels, not for the first time, that time is slipping by faster and faster with each day.


End file.
